


Curtain Call

by OrionLady



Series: Figlio Mozzato [7]
Category: Flashpoint (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Brotherly Love, Discussion of whether one's attire affects your grade, Disney, Epic Friendship, Families of Choice, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Gift Giving, Hangover, Humor, No Dean we cannot harass Clark's professors, Shopping, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21670471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrionLady/pseuds/OrionLady
Summary: Shopping for that special someone is hard—especially the morning after a killer bachelor party. Now if only Spike could solve the mystery of why Dean is being so squirrely…To Spike’s utter and bald faced shock, Dean totally bypasses his suggestion for the Disney store.“And you callmethe child?”
Series: Figlio Mozzato [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1490165
Comments: 14
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh look.” Spike takes one hand out of his pockets to gesture vaguely at a vendor going by. “Yet _another_ pretzel joint. Or there’s a lovely cafe two floors down.”

Dean, in his single minded yet frenzied quest, just nods. “Uh huh.”

“There goes a taco place—along with my hopes and dreams of getting out of this mall before I’m eighty.”

“Great.”

“Or…ah ha! Dumplings!”

This catches Dean’s ping-pong fast eyes, of all things. “You’d eat dumplings for breakfast?”

Spike snags a corner of Dean’s winter jacket to stop the almost jogging pace. The boy spins around from his halted trajectory, if he even had one to begin with. “Actually, dumplings are often served as part of dim sum, which is like brunch.”

“Huh.” Dean’s brows go up while he thinks about this. “I never knew that. And this isn’t just a _mall_ , Spike. Come on. It’s the Eaton Centre.”

“So you are listening!” Then Spike makes a face. “I don’t care what fancy name they give it. It’s a mall. And I’m still not over the time someone got shot in the women’s bathroom and Jules had to talk her shooter off a ledge upstairs.”

Dean’s whole expression kind of blanks for a second and then he seems to throw this last tidbit out the window. “It’s the biggest shopping selection around! If I’m going to find the perfect gift—and I only have a few hours to do so—then it’s going to be here.”

“It’s ten in the morning and I only got _maybe_ an hour of sleep. Remember our deal?”

Dean deflates. “You drive me here and back if I buy you breakfast.”

“Good man. So?”

“I could just take the subway back.”

“Yeah right.” Spike snorts. “And deal with lunch hour traffic—not to mention your father’s worry? I don’t think so.”

Digging through his raggedy jeans’ pocket, Dean produces his wallet. “You want those dumplings?”

Spike peers through the heated glass at an array of Chinese food. “Only if they’re the miniature ones shaped like pandas, with egg and cheese in them.”

“Deal, you child.” Dean ribs him but he’s grinning. He hands over a few bills. “Enjoy your tiny bears.”

The owner, a petite, grey haired lady, hands ten of them to Spike in a small basket. He nods at her. “Xie, xie!”

By the time Spike rubs his chopsticks apart and bites the ear off his first panda, Dean is already gone. Spike runs to catch up, only to find Dean fretting while looking in shop windows.

There are more shoppers than normal for this early in the day, probably with Valentine’s Day so close. Winnie’s distaste for the organized ‘holiday’ means he didn’t get her anything, as usual. Though he _does_ plan on opening a bottle of his mother’s shipped-straight-from-the-vineyard wine for them.

Also as usual.

Spike finishes swallowing. “Mira’s coming back tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah! She’s doing some of her botany internship right here in Toronto.” Dean’s excitement bleeds through some of the anxiety, brightening his eyes and unclasping his hands from their wringing. He looks years younger. “I’ll get to see her all semester!”

“That’s awesome.” Spike rustles Dean’s hair using his elbow. “How about this store? It’s got accessories and stuff.”

To his utter and bald faced shock, Dean totally bypasses Spike’s suggestion for the Disney store.

“And you call _me_ the child?”

Spike’s spluttering protests go unnoticed as Dean winds around a _Tarzan_ display. In a bewildered trance, Spike follows Dean until he makes it to a _One Hundred and One Dalmatians_ shelf, miniscule and unnoticed amidst all the _Frozen_ merchandise, and stops there with a serious expression.

“I feel like this is payback for the taco comment,” says Spike.

“No…” A new voice comes up behind him, followed by the smell of snow and crisp outdoors. He turns to see Sam, sunglasses on and waving a jerky hand at the lights and children shrieking. Not to mention the Disney karaoke booth by the cash. “ _This_ is payback.”

Spike’s snickers turn into a full blown laugh when two little girls start up a belting rendition of “A Whole New World.”

Sam takes another sip of the very… _very_ black coffee in his hand and throws a mutinous look at Spike. Even without the sunglasses, Spike knows that expression.

Dean gives Sam a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, then goes back to looking at Dalmatian lunch boxes.

Sam’s other hand is buried deep in his wool coat and he looks faintly like he’d love to burrow in it. Or die in it, whichever comes first.

“Dumpling?” Spike holds out the basket.

“Now you’re just taunting me.” Sam’s nose wrinkles. “How are you so…?”

He uses the coffee cup to indicate up and down at Spike.

Spike laughs again. “Is that coffee working for you?”

“ _No_. Seriously, you had more rounds than I did last night. What gives?”

“Well, for starters—black coffee actually has the least amount of caffeine when compared to a blond roast.”

“Are you giving me a science lesson right now? Rude.”

Spike ignores him to grin. “I really do have to thank you for that window smash of a bachelor party. What a blast! The Vegas circus theme was a nice touch.”

“ _Spike_ …”

“Maybe you’re just a lightweight, compared to how I drank you under the table.”

“Ha!” Sam’s face animates from its dead stare for the first time since he arrived, a broad and sly smirk. “That’ll be the day. Spill. How’d you do it?”

Spike throws an arm around his friend, coupled with an indulgent, almost giddy smile. “Sam, I stopped ordering alcoholic beer an hour in.”

Sam’s mouth hangs open and his eyes are so wide they’re slightly visible around the edges of the sunglasses.

Dean pouts. “Don’t remind me of what I missed. I can’t _believe_ you only let us stay for an hour—I turned twenty last month! I didn’t even get to see the magician’s big finale!”

Spike rolls his eyes. “And you have classes this afternoon, which I assumed you don't want to sleep through. Go finish picking out your dog knapsack or whatever, Mr. Maturity.”

“Non-alcoholic beer?” Sam, not firing on all cylinders, is still suck on this apparently earth-shaking fact. “Greg is rubbing off on you.”

“No.” Spike cants his head. “Well, yes, but I knew I had to drive Dean this morning so I wanted to stay sharp. Not to mention my doctor’s orders to take it easy. I don’t have great memories of being inebriated, either of myself or…other people.”

Sam takes another sip, brow quirked. “That’s fair.”

Something occurs to Spike for the first time. He glances around. “How did you even know we were here? Are you Valentine’s shopping too?”

“Nope.” Sam jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m chauffeuring a gremlin of my own.”

Spike turns and sure enough, there is Clark at the front of the store, rifling through a box of _Toy Story_ stickers. His cello case, the backpack straps slung over his shoulders, is a hazard unto itself. It bumps some little Simba plushies onto the floor.

Dean nearly drops the knapsack-lunchbox combo. He flails a hand. “You brought him _here_?!”

The two older men exchange confused glances. Spike pauses with a dumpling halfway to his mouth.

“Sure,” says Sam. He bounces his coffee cup in the air for emphasis. “You texted him last night that you were going shopping and then _he_ texted _me_ this morning because he wanted to come along before rehearsals, to get something for his mom. He said he needs your advice.”

“What’s the big deal?” Spike adds. “Maybe he can help you find that perfect gift for Mira. Win-win.”

“Oh, I already bought something for Mira weeks ago.”

Spike nearly chokes on a piece of egg. “Then _why_ am I in this mall _—_ it’s totally a mall. Sam, back me up—at ten on a Saturday morning after my own bachelor party?”

With a quiet wail of distress, Dean stuffs the Dalmatians back and runs a frantic hand through his hair. “You have to get rid of him! Right now! Go!”

He tries to shove at Sam and Spike, to get them moving, but neither budge. Spike takes another serene bite of his breakfast. Across the store, some jumping kids get thoroughly into the high parts of “Reflection” from _Mulan._

“Points for effort,” Sam deadpans, when Dean pushes at the man’s bicep. “What’s going on, Stuart Little?”

Dean sags, puffing. “Why are you guys built like tanks?”

Sam grins again, flicking Spike’s chopsticks. “That’ll _also_ be the day.”

Spike scowls at him.

“Oh, hey! Dalmatians—my favourite Disney movie!” Clark comes bounding over, sidestepping a little boy in a cowboy hat. “What’s up, Dean? Thanks for helping me out.”

“Hey, Clark,” says Dean in a small voice.

Spike offers Clark a dumpling and he eats it in one bite.

“Philistine,” Spike mutters. It’s Sam’s turn to laugh. “We were just heading over to the accessories place. Wanna come?”

Clark glances between them, this strange, one third hungover huddle. “That’d be awesome. Mom’s looking for a new necklace chain since her old one broke.”

Dean is overcome with such a relieved expression that Spike feels sorry for him.

“It’s totally Dad’s fault since he put it through the wash by accident,” Clark explains. “But he denies the whole thing.”

“Great!” Spike pokes at Clark with the chopsticks to get him moving. “We’ll be right there.”

When Clark shuffles away, lamenting the lack of good retro Disney merchandise, there’s a pause. Sam takes a sip, shares a knowing smile with Spike, and joins in the low rumble of laughter.

Dean bristles. “What?”

“Nothing.” Sam takes another sip. “Nothing at all.”

“It’s just really cute,” Spike tacks on.

“Clark’s mid term recital is tonight.” Sam eyes him over the top rim of his shades. “I know I’m right because his schedule is on _your_ mini fridge.”

Dean folds his arms, immediately defensive. “His parents haven’t been able to come to the last few, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sam nods along. “Yep.”

“And he’s really nervous for this one—he has _two_ solos.”

Spike’s smile grows. “Totally.”

“Yep,” Sam parrots himself. Spike can’t keep up the charade, giggling.

“Oh, shut it.” Dean steals the last dumpling. He speaks around a mouthful of cheese. “I wanted to cheer up Clark somehow.”

“We’ll leave you to it, then.” Sam takes a dramatic bow and then instantly regrets it, groaning. “Preferably somewhere less noisy.”

Before following, Spike claps Dean’s back. “That’s really kind of you, Dean, I mean it. You’re a good best friend.”

Dean gets all red and shy-eyed, with that distinct Parker spark. Spike’s smile turns fond.

Then Dean reaches out in a hasty, tight side hug, one of those on-the-spot embraces he’s been doing ever since Thanksgiving, as if to reassure himself that Spike is still breathing and alive. That he’s not coughing up blood anymore.

Spike reciprocates without a second thought, pulling him back in for a real hug, noogie and all.

“You’re the worst. Even Dad says so.”

“I love you too, brother mine.”

Dean lets out a little laugh and it’s the lightest Spike has seen him all day. “I just know it’s been a rough year, for all of us really. And plus—he really does love Dalmatians. He says he wants to have one for a pet someday.”

“He sure does!” Spike only knows this because of Clark’s dorm key chain, a little Dipstick figurine. He finally releases Dean to wink. “Go get ‘em, caboose!”

“I’m going to retaliate someday for that. When you least expect it.”

Spike waves over his shoulder to Dean’s call. “Whatever you say, sprout!”

Sam is waiting for him outside the store, leaning on the railing next to Clark’s cello. It’s been extradited from the tightly packed accessories store after one too many run ins with the racks. Spike knows this from experience and angry store clerks.

He throws out the basket and then, clapping off his hands, leans beside his friend. Sam’s back to that neutral, slightly grimacing expression, though the caffeine has calmed his headache.

Together, they watch bustling crowds with red candies and clothes and roses file past. Spike wonders who they’ll all be going home to, if some are lonely or if some have been married for years. He wonders how busy Team One will be when that day comes, how many jumpers they’ll talk off ledges and jilted lovers they’ll have to escort out of houses.

At some point, Disney bag hidden where it is stuffed in his jacket pocket, Dean zips out of the store and joins Clark. Through the window, they see an animated discussion start up about gold versus rose gold, one which Clark seems to be winning. The clerk looks a little overwhelmed.

“Can I have some coffee too?”

Sam hands him the cup. Spike thanks him and swigs gritty grinds at the bottom. Hands it back.

Sam finishes it off with a satisfied sigh, nodding to himself. “I know somewhere that’s less noisy _and_ more noise oriented, if you’re up for it.”

Spike is totally lost for a moment.

Then he spies Sam’s wicked grin, mirroring it with one of his own. “Oh, we shouldn’t. Should we?”

“Is that cowardice talking?”

“ _You’re_ the one with a hangover, living dangerously.”

“Why not?” Sam shrugs and taps the fiberglass case. “It’s free to the public, right? I’ve got nothing planned at all tonight.”

“Sam Braddock, you are a genius.”

Without looking, they fist bump just as the boys emerge victorious, velvet box in hand.

“It’s exactly like her old one!” Clark declares, pulling up to them. “Mom is going to love it! Beat that, Dad.”

“Hey.” Spike opens the box and has to admit, it really does look an awful lot like Sophie’s favourite gold chain. “Be nice to Ed, or he’ll take it out on us during drills Monday.”

“I don’t miss that,” Sam grumbles. Then a peculiar look steals across his features while he glances around. “You know…this is totally just a mall.”

“ _Yes_! Thank you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a cellist myself, I have knocked over many a rack in my day. Hoo boy - store clerks do not like those instrument cases! And mini dumplings are the best! If you've never had one I highly recommend them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike opens his eyes and grins at Jules. “It was nice of you to come.”
> 
> “How could I miss Clark and his dazzling socks?”

‘The long road’s behind us  
And we made it  
To this bright night that finds us  
All together.’

“So Let’s Go” ~ Alan Doyle

With over thirty minutes until call time, Spike can’t stop grinning. He prods the elbow next to him, just to be sure.

Sam doesn’t wake.

“If I wasn’t seeing this with my own two eyes,” says Dean, on Spike’s other side, “I wouldn’t believe it.”

Sam is still wearing those sunglasses, slumped and comfy in the velvet red seat, hands folded at his waist. Out like a light.

“This was his idea,” Spike adds. “I feel kind of abandoned.”

Other parents mill around the intimate conservatory theatre space, musicians setting up on stage. Professors and students rearrange sheet music with stressed abandon.

Clark emerges from the wings and rounds the aisle to gape at the three of them. His eyebrows disappear up into his bushy hair. “What are you all _doing_ here? I thought you were just dropping me off!”

He looks spiffy in an all black ensemble, complete with shiny wingtip shoes. One hand holds his cello by its neck, bow slung over his thumb, sheet music under his arm.

Spike has a question of his own. “Are you seriously going to wear those on stage? For a concert you’re being _graded_ on?”

He points down at Clark’s feet.

Clark lifts his pant leg to reveal the whole effect of his socks, a pressed miasma of Dalmatians on a blue background. The expression on his face when he’d opened the gift was priceless, as was the sound of Dean’s replying laughter.

He nods at Spike, bobbing his curly head. “Yeah, man. I need to start a sock collection like Dean. Besides, what are they going to do, fire me?”

Across Spike’s nose, he high fives Dean with similar abandon.

Spike shakes his head, still smiling. “The next generation is alright.”

“It’s going to be, like, way more nerve wracking with you all sitting here though.”

“Nerve wracking or do you mean exciting?” Dean wheedles.

A smile creeps over Clark’s face. “Exciting. Mind blowing. The most stress inducing thing ever, which I’ve learned are all kind of the same thing when you perform a lot.”

Spike runs his fingers over the bow’s horse hair, powdery with rosin. White flakes onto his skin. “You’re going to be fine. I’ve heard you practicing that Goltermann concerto when I drop by your dorm—you’re more than ready.”

“Thanks, Spike. I’d thank Sam too, if he was awake.”

“Do you feel confident about the Mendelssohn song too?” Dean asks.

“Piece,” Spike corrects, proud of himself for knowing that.

“I think so.” Clark glances around. “Some of these guys, though. Man—they’re legit. Their playing is amazing.”

Then Clark bites his lip, and Spike understands what he’s really saying with a jittery rush of sympathy. “I called your dad before we came. Ed’s really proud of you like we all are, Clark, and he feels terrible that he can’t be here tonight. He’s got that appointment uptown.”

“I know.” Clark gives a tiny smile and a thankful look at Spike. “He’s been to most of these recitals over the years and yet he tells me every time.”

Dean taps his breast pocket, where his student Academy badge sits. “If the profs don’t award you a good grade, we’ll totally go over there in uniform and give them a hard time. Right, Spike?”

“Uh.” Spike throws him a look, brow arched high. “No, we absolutely will not.”

“Yeah,” says Clark, already laughing. “Please, _please_ do not do that.”

Dean looks genuinely surprised. “What? Why not?”

“Abuse of power, much?”

Spike points to Clark. “Exactly. Take it from the artist in our midst, Dean—powers are to be used only for good. Write that down.”

Dean gripes. “You guys are no fun.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Clark soothes, poking Dean’s shoulder with his bow tip.

The boys chatter some more, Clark absently tuning the pegs while Dean contests that performers should get to wear whatever they want. Clark thanks him for the gift, promising to keep the crazy sock contest going.

Spike doesn’t realize he’s drifted off as well until someone steps over his legs and a soft, tender hand, like butterfly wings, flutters over his cheek. He keeps his eyes closed, disoriented.

“That party really tuckered our boys out, huh?”

“You should’ve seen them.” Dean laughs. “You and Winnie have got nothing to worry about, Jules. No strippers, no lap dances—just badly played poker and a magician that pulled a barrel of monkeys out of Wordy’s hat.”

A caramel warm hum answers. It buzzes clean through the fingertips that brush Spike’s burn scar and down his chest. Checking his breathing, just like Dean always does.

“They’re okay?” she asks.

“Yeah. Just tired, I think. It was really nice of them to drive Clark and I around after the night they had.”

Spike wrangles his eyes open in time to catch Jules patting Dean’s knee, where she settles on his right. A cup of hot cocoa is nestled in her other hand, a feat of smuggling considering they’re not supposed to have food or drink in here.

Something about the homey image is wrong for a beat, sharp and out of focus. Spike blinks.

Then his eyes widen—Jules is donned in her SRU gear, vest and all.

Spike is straight up and leaned around Dean in a heartbeat. He rubs the fatigue from his eyes. “Did we have an emergency shift? Is someone hurt?”

It wouldn’t surprise him if they got such a call and didn’t tell him, with how cautious they’ve been when it comes to his immune system. They didn’t let him out of the command truck during calls until January, until they were positive he wasn’t going to die from the common cold.

He’s only been allowed to go out and take his gun on a, you know, _gun_ _call_ for about a month now. Even then he’s not technically back up to a ‘normal’ weight, a tad bony around the ribs, but some of his wiry muscle filling back in.

It took long enough just to convince Ed not to have an oxygen tank on hand at all times.

Jules rushes to place a hand on Spike’s arm. “Everyone is fine, Spike, no call. We’re all safe. A friend just asked me to speak at her daughter’s leadership club and they wanted to see what I wear on a typical day.”

Spike closes his eyes again, blaringly awake now, and breathes out a long breath.

The hand squeezes. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s okay.” Spike opens his eyes and grins at her. “It was nice of you to come.”

“How could I miss Clark and his dazzling socks?”

Dean snickers, trying to stifle them when some parents turn to look. Performers take their seats on stage, in chamber orchestra formation, including Clark. He hears the sound of his friend even over the muffled din and rolls his eyes.

Then he gives a strange, three fingered salute that Dean reciprocates—as if ‘catching’ the fingers, he places three over his chest. An abridged version of their ‘secret’ handshake.

“No Sadie?” Spike asks, to distract himself from the winding down snare of his heart.

“Sadie is at her grandparents’ but we’ll bring her to concerts when she’s older.”

Spike suddenly notices the intent eyes studying his every breath and the quick text she fires off in their group chat. “Let me guess—Greg sent you to check up on me?”

Jules shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe he worries about his kids sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Dean pipes up in a faux grumble. “Try _all the time_. If worrying was an Olympic sport, Dad would be a multi-winning gold medalist.”

Spike’s cheeks flush but he smiles, warmth zipping all the way down to his toes.

Jules gazes at him for a long, steady few minutes, only letting go once the lights dim. At the conductor’s podium, one of the head professors begins introductions and acknowledgements.

Somehow, even with the theatre seat arm rests in the way, Dean predictably finds a way to half recline on Spike’s shoulder, cuddled close. Spike relaxes fully, the familiar weight of his brother and Jules’ lavender scent and Sam’s foot flung overtop of Spike’s ankle all sensations that carry him back home to the present.

A new, faint pressure settles on Spike’s stomach, placed there by a loving hand. He glances down to see…

A beanbag plushy?

It’s got green lederhosen on it and a tiny feathered hat, friendly looking. Gentle brown, glass eyes peer at Spike. He scrambles to remember the _Toy Story_ character’s name until he sees it written on the tag: ‘Mr. Picklepants.’

Why this particular character…?

Then Spike clues in.

“A hedgehog? Really?” He brandishes the spiky fur in front of Sam’s face. “When did you even buy this?”

Sam’s replying smile is pure, simple, and smug. He’s not asleep at all.

Applause breaks out—

“Now you have a friend with hair just like you.”

“You and Dean are in on this harassment together, I swear.”

“You’re welcome.”

—And Clark’s bow hits the string, the first chord ringing in concert with Spike’s laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece was a delight to frolic in, the much needed humour after all that heaviness. What a delight to post this on the day of my own orchestral concert!

**Author's Note:**

> Written October - November 2019.


End file.
